


Some Things You Cannot Forget

by Nerdanelparmandil



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Kiss, Florence + the Machine References, Love Confessions, M/M, Romance, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdanelparmandil/pseuds/Nerdanelparmandil
Summary: Findekáno was drunk and barely of age when he first kissed his cousin. The next day his memories were hazy at best, and no one mentioned anything, so he dismissed it as one of his numerous dreams of that nature.If he had been more sober, this is what he would have recalled.





	Some Things You Cannot Forget

[Y.T. 1386]

Being the firstborn of a High Prince meant numerous things Findekáno had spent the majority of his early youth trying to avoid. Taking an active role in his grandfather’s court – which was overcrowded already, in Findekáno’s opinion – being a responsible and reliable figure, both for his younger brothers and cousins, and also for his people; attend public events and gatherings his own family organized; play the part of the nice and gallant prince with everyone, even if he could barely hide his contempt.

Most of these tasks came naturally to him now. Despite his recklessness and his penchant to stay outdoors more than his parents would have liked, he had become indeed the responsible young man his mother liked to describe to her acquaintances when they asked how her darling boy had grown up.

He tried his best to set a good example for his brother and sister, although Valar knew Turukáno needed to loosen up and get out more, and with Irissë a leash would have been more useful than a mere example of virtue. His three siblings had taught him the art of patience and of hiding his suffering behind reassuring smiles – Arakáno was still a baby and liked to bite as much as he disliked being scolded for it. So, indeed, he had become one of court’s favourite princes, praised for his pleasant and cheerful disposition. Even with people he did not like he tried to be polite, otherwise he would feel guilty for a week, because maybe they did not deserve it, maybe he had been too self-absorbed…Worries that his dear younger brother Turukáno, for instance, shared not. And neither did his elder cousin.

Maitimo.

What a puzzle he was.

Three years before Findekáno had begun to seriously work at court, as Lungumawë’s personal assistant, the king’s Marshal, a jovial if inflexible man, broad in the shoulders and with large hands made for taming unruly studs. He was beginning to show signs of facial hair, nothing comparable to Mahtan’s beard, obviously, but of which he was terribly self-conscious.

His son, a tall and gangly youth curiously called Rōka was around Turukáno’s age and had been his schoolmate, before leaving for his apprenticeship by the Aulendili. Findekáno suspected that the man had wanted his son to follow in his footsteps and, after Rōka’s refusal, had instead elected to take _him_ under his wing. Which was good, all things considered, because Findekáno did not care particularly to ever incur into Lungumawë’s wrath. The Marshal’s trust and benevolence meant that Findekáno had to follow him around the palace, taking part in the Council more often than not, where he spent several of his mornings taking notes and being distracted by his elder cousin’s smooth voice.

He had not meant to develop a bad case of hero-worship, but how could he have avoided it?

Maitimo was, undoubtedly, enchanting. There were no other words. (Hypnotic? Simply beautiful? No, they did not convey the sense of wonderment and utter fascination he felt for him.)

He had been in court for years by then, going from being a simple assistant to his father’s county delegate to becoming a permanent member of the Council, advising the king in matters of laws and strategy. Findekáno’s father himself wanted to appoint him his second, even if Fëanáro had grumbled at the proposition.

Rumours were that Fëanáro would have wanted his son to take his title as count. It was no secret that he managed his northern county through a number of vicars, so that he could dedicate his time to his scientific pursuits. Giving up his title to his son would have meant, however, that Maitimo would be required to spend more time away from the court and not concurring for the title of Head of the Council, which seemed to be his not-so-secret ambition.

Findekáno should have considered that a bit insulting, since that title belonged to his maternal grandfather and his father was now in the talks for replacing him once he retired. He was still not sure what game his father and half-uncle were playing, but he had the distinct impression that, in the end, Maitimo would come out the victor. Or maybe he was biased.

Whatever the political intricacies were, no one could deny that Maitimo was as skilled as he was pleasant to the eye. He talked well, with a quickness that he had learned by none other than his father, his words carefully chosen to intimidate and persuade with their high register, but never sounded pompous or ridiculous. He presented a subtly cutthroat mask in Council, though Findekáno supposed it was motivated by his young age and the need to put into place some of the older councillors, which tended to look down their nose at him or anyone born after their arrival in Valinor (and was that not extremely ridiculous?). Outside of the council room, however, he was a sweetheart.

“Findekáno, dear cousin, I am glad to see you well,” he approached him as soon as they escaped the room.

Findekáno had still his papers and pencils in hand, and was now hugging them to his chest hoping to hide is sudden blush. He opened his mouth to greet him in return, when he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder, and let out a squeak of surprise.

Turning, he saw lord Lungumawë smile, “You have worked well, Findekáno,” he said, “Go on and enjoy the rest of your day. But I expect to see you in my office the day after tomorrow, at the Mingling, sharp.”

“Ah, yes lord Lungumawë. Of course. But – not tomorrow?”

The man gave a hearty laugh, “Oh, I do not expect you to be able to work tomorrow morning after tonight’s festival. Papers can wait.”

“Oh, thank you kindly, lord Lungumawë,” he stammered, sure that his blush had reached his ears, for how warm they felt. What was worse, he was constantly aware of Maitimo’s presence behind him, his silver eyes heavy between his shoulder blades.

“Can I have those reports?”

“Wha – Oh, these, of course,” he handed the papers, slightly rumpled by his squishing and clammy hands. If the Marshal noticed his hesitance, or his unusual awkwardness, he merely showed his amusement by the glint in his eyes and the upturned corner of his mouth; his voice remained warm and pleasant, without hidden irony or jest. Findekáno was incredibly grateful for it.

“Thank you. Enjoy the festival tonight, Findekáno.”

“Thank you, lord Lungumawë. I will.”

With a last nod, and a bow to the two princes, the Marshal walked away only to be intercepted by Nolofinwë, who appeared in that moment among the flux of councillors. As he did with Findekáno, the Marshal greeted the prince by clasping his shoulder with familiarity, while Nolofinwë threw a nod in their direction.

_I expect you home at least an hour before we have to set out for the palace again. Go on and enjoy the day with your cousin, _was what Findekáno heard his father say through their bond.

“He is very fond of you,” said Maitimo behind him.

“Lord Lungumawë? He seems so, doesn’t he?”

Maitimo hummed, and Findekáno turned to him, some of his embarrassment gone now that the initial surprise had vanished. Which was ridiculous, because they always talked and walked together for a while when they could.

“Well,” said his cousin, “if I heard correctly, you have the rest of the day free.”

“I have. And you?”

Maitimo shook his head, “I have a few reports to write before tonight’s feast.”

“Oh,” Findekáno felt a small stab of disappointment, “can I treat you to lunch at least?”

Maitimo smiled so sweetly, he felt his blush return in full. “You do know the way to a man’s heart. I think I can spare a couple of hours for you. Please, lead the way.”

Exhilarated by the small victory, Findekáno grinned back and, with a spring in his step, led them outside, headed to their favourite restaurant in town.

His good humour remained intact for the rest of the afternoon. He and Maitimo had shared a pleasant lunch, each telling the other of their siblings’ adventures and exchanging impressions about court’s life.

As they parted, Maitimo directed back to his own study in the palace, Findekáno intent on spending some hours strolling leisurely through the market square before heading home, his elder cousin’s hand had brushed his wrist, his eyes strangely brilliant and uncertain as he asked if he would keep him company during the evening’s gathering. Of course, had answered Findekáno, his breath caught in his throat, as his wrist trembled under his cousin’s touch.

The festival was the opening act of the musical season of Tirion, and traditionally took place in the king’s gardens. The best musicians among the Noldor participated with their new pieces, previews reserved for the royal family and their followers, and sometimes also guests from Valmar and Alqualondë showed up.

For this year, Makalaurë had announced he would write the most difficult harp solo ever composed – he said something similar every year for a different instrument and no one had ever contradicted him so far – so there was, as expected, great excitement that night, with people craning their necks this way and that way, hoping to catch a glimpse of the musician before anyone else, and gossip about his attire, his hairdressing, the number of jewels he wore and what that could mean for his piece, if it would be a bold piece of thundering resonance (not likely, considering he had chosen the harp), or a sublime sweet ballad (more likely, considering he had chosen the harp), or even a piece that broke every rule and taste, setting a new trend in music.

Honestly, Findekáno thought as he too craned his neck to look around, hoping to catch a different Fëanárion, his cousin could have played the simplest tune ever written, and half of Tirion would praise his genius in any case. Their grandfather, obviously, would be delighted either way, and the court would follow.

The gardens were shimmering under the silver light of Telperion, hundreds of small lamps hung on the lowest branches of trees and the wooden poles that had been planted around the many tables where refreshments of every kind lay. The blossoms were in bloom, their sugary smell permeating the air and mingling with the scent of wine and fruit and roasted meat. It was a heady smell, its taste sticking under Findekáno’s tongue and the back of his throat. He quivered in anticipation while he made his way through the thongs of people, soft and deep voices of lords and ladies greeting him as he passed, anxious for what he hoped lay ahead of him that night.

He saw something red blaze and knew he had found him. He grabbed a glass of wine from the nearby table, hoping that a few sips would give him the confidence he needed to approach him. He could not see much aside from his hair twisted and pinned in place by plaits and jewels, his brow adorned with the now famous copper circlet that made him stand out from the lords in gold and silver that surrounded him.

Findekáno was content to appraise him from afar, letting his eyes trace the perfect profile, envied by every man in the city, the very example of what beauty meant when it took the form of an Elda. If Findekáno were a hero in one of those curious novels his sister liked to read in her spare time, he would have not hesitated to face every peril imaginable to save him from whatever threat, thus winning his affection and maybe a kiss…

Maitimo’s eyes found him and widened minutely, before he smiled the way Findekáno loved, that secret, almost complicit smile that made him feel special, as if he considered his younger cousin someone trustworthy enough to be completely honest and let him in into his thoughts. Maitimo extricated himself from the courtesans and made his way towards him, while he finished his glass. He could not help but take in the way he walked, sure and proud, how his robes hugged and hid his well-proportioned strong body, how his smile stayed in place and his expression revealed genuine joy.

“Findekáno,” he greeted. He seemed to take pleasure in saying his name every time he could, and from anyone else’s lips it would have sounded too formal, but Maitimo had a way of owning words, and this was no exception.

“Maitimo. Good evening,” he said lamely.

“I see you have already sampled our grandfather’s reserves.”

Findekáno looked down at the empty glass in his hands an gave a small nervous laugh, “Yes, well, you were busy, so I helped myself.”

_Where did that come from?_

“So I was. Shall we go to the stage and claim some backseats for ourselves before our fathers will make us seat at the front?”

“Wouldn’t Makalaurë be upset by not seeing you in the front row?”

Maitimo laughed, a carefree sound that drew some stares, “Not at all! He begged me not to show my face, otherwise he said he would butcher the piece and all of Valinor will laugh at him. I make him nervous.”

“How so?”

He shrugged, “I’m not really sure, though I’d say it’s a form of performance anxiety.”

Findekáno snorted at the thought, “Really? You’re jesting, surely. Makalaurë loves to perform.”

“Yes, but not in front of me. Father is enough. I don’t think he can see us both in the crowd.”

“Oh.”

That explained it, somewhat. Fëanáro’s legacy was sometimes a heavy burden to carry. Still, that did not explain to Findekáno why Makalaurë would find Maitimo’s presence overbearing. He was a fantastic brother, supportive and never judging. Findekáno would have confided him his innermost secrets without shame, for he knew he would find an understanding heart in front of him. Or so he liked to think, because there was, in fact, something he should confess, yet he never seemed to find the right moment for it.

“Look not so upset, dear cousin. Makalaurë would thank you later for distracting me.”

“I wasn’t upset. If you say so, Maitimo, I’ll believe you.”

A warm hand was placed on his shoulder, the thumb brushing his neck for a second. Findekáno did not look up at his cousin, for fear he would break the contact.

“Good,” he heard him say.

Findekáno was positively tipsy when all the performances on the stage had ended and the feast returned once more in the garden around the tables of food and drinks. He and Maitimo were strolling between the carefully trimmed hedges, the grass soft as a caress under their bare feet; their arms brushed as they went, talking of inane things and laughing softly, as if a sound too loud would break the spell that surrounded them. There was an intimacy to it that went to Findekáno’s head and gave him the courage to purposely brush his arm along Maitimo’s, until their hands met and tangled.

Maitimo’s words died on his lips and he looked down at their joined hands, a myriad of emotions swirling in his grey eyes. Findekáno could not look away, suddenly apprehensive and yet sure that what he was doing was right.

“You are bold, Findekáno,” he murmured. He sounded out of breath, for some reason.

“Am I?”

Maitimo’s gaze was a burning thing, but Findekáno did not flinch away, did not hide, and stared back, hoping that his eyes were conveying all that his words could not.

“Yes, bold. Bolder than anyone I know.”

Findekáno stopped their walk, then, placing himself in front of Maitimo, mere inches separating them from touching.

“If I were so bold as you think I am,” he said, “Then I would have done this some years ago.” He placed his other hand on Maitimo’s chest, feeling for a moment the heart pounding underneath, went on his tiptoes and placed a small kiss at the corner of his mouth. Maitimo was still as a statue, his hand crushing Findekáno’s.

“But I’m not so bold when it comes to you.”

He felt Maitimo’s other hand come up and grip his bicep, not pushing him away, just there, as if he needed the support to steady himself.

“What are you saying, Findekáno?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“What do you think?”

Maitimo shook his head but stayed silent; his hand travelled up, tangling in Findekáno’s loose hair.

“Tell me you feel this too, Maitimo. Tell me I haven’t read you wrong.”

“Oh, my sweet Findekáno.”

That was all the convincing Findekáno needed, and he tugged on their joined hands, urging Maitimo to accommodate his height, before surging up and this time claiming his lips in a full kiss.

Maitimo made the sound of wounded animal, using the hand in Findekáno’s hair to guide him so that he could correct the angle and deepen their kiss, crushing their bodies together. His mouth was hotter than Findekáno had imagined and he felt utterly consumed. He tasted wine and honey, and he could have remained there for the rest of eternity, no matter if his lungs burned and gave out, he would not have ended the kiss.

But Maitimo did, abruptly, his breath coming in harsh exhales as he brought their foreheads together, eyes still closed.

“You don’t know what you are doing to me, Findekáno.”

“Oh, I think I have an idea.”

Maitimo groaned, “You are drunk, my dear.”

Findekáno hummed, “Maybe drunk enough to have the courage to do this, but not enough that I don’t know what I’m doing. I want this, Maitimo,” he let his hand slide up to cup his cousin’s jaw, “Kiss me again?”

Maitimo obliged him.

He had been, however, drunk enough to forget most of that evening, waking up the next day in his room in the palace, clad in only a nightshirt, his clothes neatly folded on a chair, and a splitting headache making it impossible for him to look at the golden light filtering through the white curtains.

__

The second time he kissed Maitimo, and remembered it, they were in Maitimo’s study.

It was one of those rare evenings when it rained, and Findekáno had used the excuse of the weather to stay the night at the palace, knowing that his cousin would stay too and hoping to finally corner him for an explanation. Ever since the music festival, a couple of weeks before, Maitimo had eluded him, behaving strangely when around him, with none of that casual charm that had characterised their friendship so far. He was almost awkward, if such a word could ever apply to him, averted his gaze more often than not, and was oddly distant. They had stopped taking lunch together, Maitimo claiming that his paperwork seriously needed so many hours to be completed that he really did not have the time to lunch in a restaurant.

He carefully balanced the tray in his hand, knocking on the wooden door of the study.

“Come in,” came Maitimo’s muffled voice.

The little study was, plainly speaking, a mess. A cloak and a robe were hanging from a coat hanger, a rumpled worn shirt lay on the chair at its side, the copper circlet carelessly placed atop. On the round table at the centre of the room sat a tray with empty plates and used napkins, stacks of books around it and on the two armchairs. The writing desk was completely covered in papers and behind it was Maitimo, hunched over and with pen in hand, hair disarrayed and face gaunt. Findekáno had never seen him so and paused two steps inside the room, his resolve crumbling altogether.

“You can leave the tray on the table, thank you,” Maitimo gestured vaguely, without taking his eyes off the paper he was writing on. When no words and no movement broke the silence, he looked up, “Oh, it’s you.”

Was that a spark of fear or annoyance that Findekáno heard? “It’s me,” he mumbled in answer.

“You brought tea?”

Clearing his throat, Findekáno took that as an invitation to come in and placed the tray on the table, pushing the other aside, hoping that he would not spill hot water everywhere – especially not on the books he recognised came from their grandfather’s personal library.

“Yes, tea. It’s late and I thought, with the rain and all…” he trailed off, wondering if his cousin would ask him to leave him alone.

“You brought two cups,” Maitimo’s voice softened almost imperceptibly, and he relaxed.

“I thought I could keep you company.”

“Shouldn’t you be home?”

Findekáno gave him a bashful smile, “I said I had some things to finish, and that I’d spend the night here.”

With a sigh, Maitimo got up and went to close the door. He looked pale even in the golden light of the fireplace, and his shirt, although clean, had not been pressed and its ties hung loose over his chest. He was barefoot.

“You told me you were busy, but I did not expect…This.”

Maitimo raised an eyebrow at him as he came closer, and began to pour the tea.

“I wasn’t lying, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I know you weren’t.”

“But?”

“But you – let me do that, Maitimo, I brought the tea for you – you have taken up more stuff to do than what required, haven’t you?”

“Mh, well, I needed to keep busy. I can pour tea perfectly well, and you are busy lecturing me about my workload.”

“I’m not lecturing – Why?”

“Why what?”

“Keep busy. Why?”

Maitimo handed him a cup, taking the other for himself and going back to the writing desk, sitting on its edge, his long legs stretched and crossed at the ankles. If it were not for the sunken eyes and haunted look, Findekáno would have thought he was completely relaxed and even lazy. He tried not to get distracted by the way his russet curls tumbled down his shoulder and tickled the skin of his neck when Maitimo ran a hand through them.

“Are you well, at least?”

“Yes, why?”

“You look like you slept here for days. Or, no, like you haven’t slept at all and holed up here for days.”

“You’d not be that wrong.”

“Again, why? Were you trying to avoid me?”

“Where did you get that idea?”

Findekáno raised his shoulders, “Ever since the festival we have barely spoken.” Maitimo winced. “It’s curious, you know? I woke up in my room here, my clothes folded, a glass of water on the night table and no idea how I got there. I thought you might have known, but cornering you has been nigh impossible.”

“Maybe I was avoiding you, a little bit,” he admitted.

That stung. “Why?” he asked dismayed.

“Why? You know well, why, _cousin_.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t understand, Maitimo.”

“How can you not?

Findekáno just looked at him, lost. Maitimo finished the tea and stood up, going to the tray, where he put down the cup. He seemed to be thinking of what to say, how to say it, and if it was a good idea to say it. “The night of the festival.”

“What of it?”

“Do you remember anything?”

“Should I?”

“Findekáno…”

“Something happened, didn’t it? Between us. That’s why you retreated.”

“…Yes.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” his voice was a whisper, and his hands were gripping tightly the edge of the table. Findekáno placed a hand on his back and felt him shiver. “I- I’m not sure, Maitimo,” he said, “I know I spent the night by your side. I know that you were the most beautiful man that night and that I desperately wanted to kiss you. But if I offended you in any way, I apologise. It was not my intention.”

“You did not offend me, Findekáno. Quite the contrary.”

“Oh. Then-”

“You did kiss me. And, Valar help me, I kissed you back.”

Findekáno felt his cheek darken, “So it wasn’t a dream,” he murmured.

“A dream?”

“I thought I had dreamt of you that night. Of your lips on mine, your body against mine. But it was real.”

“And you were drunk.”

“Maybe. But I know I did want that-”

“Findekáno, please-”

“And I know I want it still.”

Maitimo turned to him, then, taking his hands and kissing his knuckles. “You said the same thing that night. But it cannot be.” He released him, but did not step back.

Findekáno looked up at him, defiant. “How so?”

“We are cousins; and you are too young for me.”

“I am an adult, Maitimo.”

“You came of age this year, Findekáno. I’m sixty years older than you.”

“If it makes you terribly uncomfortable I will step back. But if this is you setting a boundary out of your sense of duty for something that exists only in the mind of some boring courtesan who-”

“It exists in the mind of your father and mine, surely. They will object.”

Findekáno huffed, “They’ll do that on principle, just to needle each other. I’m not worried about them.”

Maitimo smiled, wistful. “It sounds so easy when you put it like that.”

“Because it is easy,” his hands found Maitimo’s shoulders, “Terribly easy. I love you. I have loved you for years. And I will cease this only if you want me to. Only if you can look me in the eyes and tell me, truthfully, that you don’t feel the same as I do, that you do not desire me so. Yet, if you say so, dear Maitimo, you will have to give me another convincing reason as to why you kissed me that way.”

He saw Maitimo look at him with wonder and a tender smile curved his pretty lips. “My bold Findekáno,” his arms went around his waist, pressing their bodies together, as he began to lead them towards the desk, “It looks like I don’t have another explanation.”

Findekáno felt his heart throb in joy and arousal, letting Maitimo lead him wherever he wanted, “That’s good,” he breathed, “So can I kiss you again?”

Maitimo hummed, “Please, do. But also, please, don’t forget it this time.”

Findekáno rolled his eyes, though he could not stop smiling, “Shut up, will you?”

Maitimo smirked, “Make me.”

He did.

_

The last time they kissed, it was with the shadow of war and the weight of the oath heavy on their shoulders, before the disastrous defeat separated them. They had stopped being lovers after Losgar, and the long years of longing and regret had them clinging desperately to one another for the last time, whishing that things had been different, but knowing perfectly well that they would have done the same things, placing their own fathers and people before their tentative relationship.

Still, thought Findekáno, Maitimo’s lips were as soft and kissed as well as they did a lifetime ago, in another world, where they had shared their most blissful days under the light of the Trees, young and drunk and stumbling through their grandfather’s garden.


End file.
